The House on Serpent Lake (Ghost, Romance, Fantasy) Read Online Free PDF Page A

odd. Last night it was locked so tight you’d think the CIA was storing secret documents in here.” He examined the door, then the lock. “Must be some kind of quirk. We’ll get a locksmith out here just to make sure, although I doubt there’s any reason to worry.”
    “Did you smell anything when you came in?”
    “Yeah. A musty, closed-up-old-house.” He glanced around the foyer. “See the intricate woodwork? Grandpa spared no expense building this house for Grandma. It’s a bit dusty, but it’s just like I remember.”
    Lindsay smiled at the satisfaction in his voice.
    “I hope the rest of the house isn’t in too bad a shape. Come on.” He led her through a high archway on the left. “This was the parlor, reserved for guests during my grandparents’ day. My aunts weren’t so formal.”
    Lindsay noticed the scent had disappeared. “That smell was pretty strong.” She glanced back at the foyer.
    “Let's get some fresh air in here. And some light.” Eric pulled the heavy gold drapes. Clouds of dust filled the air. Coughing, he opened the windows and shafts of sunlight brightened the room.
    “It's lovely!” Larger than their living room back home, Lindsay thought it felt even more spacious because of the high ceilings. A rock fireplace with a rich mahogany mantle took up the center wall, and on the floor, clear plastic runners stretched over a faded oriental rug that partly covered an oak floor. Yellowed sheets covered a few pieces of furniture.
    She couldn't resist peeking at the overstuffed chairs and a sofa, all made of yellow damask. And in the corner, a highly-polished Victrola cabinet stood with some old seventy-eight records still stacked in the bottom. They must be worth a fortune.
    “What in the world is that?” she asked, pointing to four wall ducts, each about fifteen inches square, mounted against the baseboard.
    “That’s for the oil furnace in the basement.”
    “Oil furnace?”
    “It has to be filled once a month. If we keep the house, we’ll convert to gas.”
    The parlor opened to a dining room just as spacious as the first room. A dusty chandelier, its crystal prisms draped in cloth, hung over a partially-covered mahogany dining table large enough to seat twelve. An elaborately carved buffet stood on one side of the table, and a matching sideboard on the other.
    “Oh, look. Aren't they beautiful?”
    Eric smiled. “Told you.”
    Lindsay paused at the large bay window to gaze at the woods edging the overgrown lawn at the back of the house. How wonderful to take meals in a room overlooking a forest crowded with trees, shrubs, and wildlife.
    And how familiar it seemed. The magnificent red oak standing at the edge of the lawn, its heavy lower branch stretching to the west, the clusters of white birch, all mature now, rising above wild pin cherry bushes. When she spotted a towering black ash topping the thicket at nearly sixty feet, she felt an overwhelming joy and wanted to dash out the back door and embrace that crooked old tree’s furrowed gray trunk as if greeting an old friend.
    A stirring of warm, vibrant air whispered in her ear, a slight humming sound, so low it was almost a vibration. All her senses were tuned to the sound, and she turned, expecting to see him standing next to her, sharing her memories, bringing them alive again.
    From across the room Eric slammed a sideboard drawer shut. Startled at the sudden sound, Lindsay blinked—and found herself standing alone at the dining room window. The same bewildering grief she’d felt yesterday began to grow, squeezing her heart until she could barely take a breath. Her eyes moistened.
    She wiped a teardrop with her finger and stared in puzzlement. Who was the ‘him’ she’d expected to see? And what, for heaven’s sake, would cause her to think such fanciful thoughts or feel such strong emotions? Perplexed, she looked at the tree again, but it was simply a nice tree in the forest.
    What was wrong with her?
    “Did you